Fruitlessly Planning Ahead
by Guanshiyin
Summary: Suspecting Mary isn't as committed to their partnership as he is, Marshall becomes angry and feelings are revealed.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mary couldn't help snickering to herself now and then. Faber had been in and out of town, and as he was leaving he'd jokingly suggested she join him in the FBI. She told him she was too old to start over and be a rookie. She was pretty sure he was joking. But then, it was hard to tell with him. His first attempt to ask her out had left her more confused than anything else. His interest in her was almost adorably awkward. Marshall, of course, had resented his presence from the moment he'd set foot in Albuquerque. When Faber was leaving, to Marshall's delight, he awkwardly attempted to let her know he wanted to see her again.

Marshall gave her a dirty look everytime she commented on it, and she probably enjoyed that more than anything else. She'd concluded that while Faber was probably right in thinking she'd be good for him, he'd be absolute poison for her.

"It'd be nice though, right? Get out of Albuquerque, you know, go some place with things like water."

"You wouldn't seriously consider it, would you?"

"Why the hell not? I'm thinking Hawaii. Beaches. Cocktails."

Marshall just gawked at her, to the point she couldn't help but notice.

"What?" she intoned defensively, evading his eye.

"Unbelievable." He muttered, grabbing his coat. "I'm done for the day. Tell Stan I'll finish this up tomorrow."

She eyed the door suspiciously. What the hell was his problem? Probably, just his hatred of Faber that had been rearing its ugly head all week. He'd been the one to try to put Faber into perspective the first time they'd worked with him. Now, however, he looked like he was ready to kill the guy if they even had to be in the same room together. He'd been ridiculously annoyed when she didn't verbally rip Faber to shreds every time his name came up between them. So she didn't completely despise Faber. So what?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Marshall liked to plan ahead. He kept the living room dark in anticipation of the headache he knew he would get from the whiskey he knew he would drink. He left the second lock on the door unlocked so that he wouldn't have to get up if Mary came around later to find out why he had left so abruptly. He had already placed the glass of water and aspirin on his bedstand. He just hoped he made it to bed before passing out. He hated when his plans turned out to be useless.

Which was one reason he could never understand why someone like him would fall in love with someone like Mary. She was clever, full of fire, fiercely loyal and totally passionate. But she would, without fail, ruin every plan he ever tried to make.

Somehow, that didn't bother him. He supposed it was necessary, even. What good would it be, being with someone more like him? The whole point of a relationship was that it provided you with what you were lacking. He knew that he could be essential to Mary, offering her stability and calm that she'd never had. And she certainly brought into his life all the adventure and passion he'd never realized he'd been lacking. Besides, it'd be terrible to be in a relationship with someone who knew as much trivia as he did. There would be no point to it at all.

It doesn't make it easy, though. He nodded, agreeing with himself whole-heartedly. But had he ever wanted easy? You're getting ahead of yourself, he muttered fiercely. There is no relationship.

When push came to shove, Mary was a good friend. When he needed her to be there for him, she was. She didn't always notice right away, assumed that everyone was like her and would demand attention if there was even the slightest problem. But once she noticed something was amiss, she was there. Bullying him until he gave up and told her what was going on. Her solutions might not always have been the most practical, but she was there. Which was what made it all the more amazing that she had never realized he was in love with her. Either he was just that good, or she was completely determined to avoid it.

The knock on the door came earlier than he expected. As though she had come straight from work. He'd expected her to go home at least, fight with Brandi or Jinx and then maybe stew during dinner and finally drive over to demand he ease her restlessness by telling her he just had a stomachache, everything was okay.

As planned, he didn't move from the couch. She knocked for awhile, tentatively at first – strange, he thought, as he contemplated his glass of whiskey. It was only his second, he much more enjoyed staring at it morosely than he did drinking it. Her knocking became more insistent. Then her voice. Again, more careful than he expected. Had she figured it out? At this, he took a gulp from the glass. He might need it.

The door creaked open. Her face. Asking permission. The door closing. And then the frown at the whiskey. He raised his glass, made a joking face, finished it off. She strode in, slamming the door behind her.

"What the hell did you leave like that for? We weren't done."

"What more did we have to say?" His voice was trained, careful and exhausted.

"Everything! God, Marshall, I don't even get why you're upset! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm a barrel full of sunshine. Now, if you just came here to insult me, I do wish you would get it over with and be on your way." There was no anger in his voice, but she noticed an exhaustion she hadn't heard before. Underneath his teasing words lay a warning. She liked it more when he was openly angry at her. At least then she would know what she had done wrong.

"Okay, so tell me what's going on."

"You would actually consider it. If it were somebody other than Faber. You'd consider leaving."

"You were going to leave."

"I thought about it, yeah. And you gave me hell for it. So you can keep your options open, but I can't?"

"I wasn't seriously considering it, Marshall. Yeah, I like the thought of getting away. Don't you? Running off to Hawaii or something. Or maybe Spain. But I guess international work is out since I'm sure the CIA wouldn't consider me."

"And what's stopping you?" he asked, getting to the heart of the matter. The thought that had him sitting there nursing a glass of whiskey. "Nothing. Nothing is stopping you. Brandi and Jinx are doing better. Jinx has a job. Brandi has Peter. And you know they'd just follow you if they got in trouble again."

"God, yeah, there's no escape. Unless the CIA were a possibility, right? Couldn't follow me there. Hmm."

"Raph is history. You've never acted very thrilled about Albuquerque. There's your house, but you can't decide your life based on a house and anyway, when you bought it you didn't expect Jinx and Brandi to move in so that didn't turn out as planned anyway. Face it, Mary. There's nothing keeping you here.

You have no reason to stay."

"That's not true," she answered from the kitchen. She returned with a glass, filled it and sat in the armchair across from him, leaning forward in a fighting stance.

"What is there to make you stay?" She took a gulp of whiskey, not quite sure she was ready to answer the question. He sighed and looked away.

"Marshall, come on. I'm not leaving."

"Why not?"

"I just … I hate change. You Know I hate change. And I have a mortgage. And, I don't want another partner. Okay, if you're going too, then sure, yes, please send me to Hawaii. But as long as you're here … so am I."

"Wait a second, you wouldn't bychance be implying that if I were transferred you'd want a transfer too?"

"Yeah, well - whereever you go, I go too. We're partners, numbnuts. I mean, as long as you want me as your partner. If you just get transferred to get the hell away from me, well, I guess I'll have to accept that. I won't be nice about it. I'll kick and scream but I'll have to accept."

"Ha, I'm not capable of the kind of self-preservation."

Mary started to laugh at that but in the middle of her chuckle she turned silent and looked at him sharply. He had sounded strangely serious. He tried to pass it off with a smile. But from the long look she gave him, she knew. She leaned back, studying him, and then sat back down. This time, next to him on the couch. She grabbed her glass and refilled it, then refilled his as well. She picked up the glass, tapped it against his and lifted it it up, but didn't drink. She seemed to be staring outside of the room.

"I'm sorry – I mean – God, Marshall am I really such a pain to be with? I know I can be rude and everything, but I do try … I hope you know that … I do … try ..."

"Mare-"

"I never thought you'd be so desperate to get away from me."

"That's not it, okay? I was joking."

"No, that's the thing, you weren't." She wouldn't look at him now. He tried to breathe, feeling like the conversation was quickly going out of his control. There it was again. He had tried to plan, even for this, and all his plans had gone to shit.

"Okay, I know I'm not always the greatest friend, but goddamnit Marshall you know that hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do -" She faded off, frustrated. He could tell that. She was getting angry and that alone made him furious.

"Yeah. Sure. That's why you do it every goddamn day." He spat. As soon as the words came out he regretted them. He closed his eyes, leaned back against the sofa hoping hopelessly that she would choose to ignore what he had just said. But he knew without looking at her how she looked just now. Like a little child. Like she looked sometimes when she tried to figure out why her parents never quite gave her a childhood. He knew, and he couldn't open his eyes. He knew also that she wouldn't ignore those words. In fact, those would probably be the words she would remember from him for all of her life. He wished he could replace them with something nicer.

She was quiet a long time. Each moment made it more painful. Finally, he heard her voice. Faltering, broken.

"How?"

He groaned.

"How do I hurt you, Marshall? I know, I'm a bitch and I make fun of you all the time but I thought you knew … you know I was just teasing, right? I never thought you took it seriously."

"I didn't"

"Okay, so then … I don't get it. Look, Marshall, just tell me what the fuck I'm doing wrong and I'll fix it. I promise."

He sighed loudly, filled his glass and hers. He drank quickly and didn't look at her.

"You're not doing anything. You've been a good friend to me. It's not anything you've done. Just … forget it, okay?"

"No, Marshall, come on, if I'm hurting you and don't know it … you really think I'll just forget it and be okay with that?" She was looking at him now, and he refused to return the gaze. Her earnest, eager eyes, sifting him. He tried to block it all off, but when he heard a final "please ...", he knew he couldn't lie to her. So much for all his plans.

"It's nothing you've done, Mary." He took a breath. "It's who you are."

At this, he could see her world start crashing. As if she'd just heard her father say _I left because of you. _

He had to stop it. He knew that, but somehow the words took ages to cross his lips. How could she not figure it out?

"Goddamnit, Mary, why do you think I considered leaving?"

"Jeez, Marshall, I get it, I'm a terrible partner and you can't wait to get away from me." She was suddenly up from the couch, storming to the door before the emotions took over, before she started tearing up. It was essential to leave the premises as soon as possible.

Marshall leaped up and grabbed her arm, whirling her around. She looked away, stubbornly freezing her face.

"Mare- " he choked, "you are so blind."

And he kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She didn't understand much from the time he started kissing her to the time he stopped. She knew that one moment she was miserable and the next she was transported, and then she was frustrated. And up against the door. Considering that the door had been her original destination, she should have been happier at reaching it. Mostly she was unhappy. First, she was unhappy because the kissing had stopped and the kissing had been really really good. But mostly, she was pissed off because she had enjoyed the kissing way too much.

He laughed when he pulled away from her. It was the creepy, disappointed laugh she'd been hearing way too much tonight. She felt like she had broken him without even knowing it. He fell back onto the couch and rubbed his face while she just kept on gawking at him.

"So … I've been making you miserable because you wanted to kiss me?" She said this carefully, trying to test the ground.

"Yep. Now I'm good. So we can forget about it."

"I'm sorry, do you become me when you start drinking? Because you are way too sarcastic tonight." She sat back down, next to him. Was it closer? It seemed closer. Had she done that deliberately? But she couldn't move away now, right? She sighed. She hadn't meant to be harsh. Neither had he, she guessed. He took her hand, started stroking it absent-mindedly, and surprisingly, she let him do it.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't want to have this conversation."

"I know. God. Marshall, right now I just want to tell you every reason this is a stupid crazy idea, beginning with something about the fact that you are my best and only friend and I refuse to lose you but … I'm sorry I just can't seem to stop thinking about kissing you. I mean, did you take lessons or something?"

"You would follow me anywhere and you can't stop thinking about kissing me? I have to say, Mare, it almost sounds like you love me back."

He'd been trying to lighten the mood, but then she didn't answer, and that said a lot more than any words. Marshall smiled to himself as she stared at him, trying to figure out everything she was feeling. He relished being way ahead of her for once. He was prepared for this, she wasn't. Now that it was obvious she had some feelings for him – maybe love? - he was suddenly ecstatic that he'd been craving her for so long. It was pretty satisfying to see her speechless.

It was much more satisfying when, lacking words or coherent thoughts, she reached up to touch his face and then kissed him again.

A/N: There will be an extended scene posted under M rating to follow this chapter (pure smut).


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Being a sweaty tangled mess could have been incredibly awkward. As it happened, it wasn't. They joked and chatted, both deliberately ignoring that they were in fact naked and recovering from the best sex either of them could remember. Marshall wanted to ignore it because it was a bad idea to get his hopes up. Mary, on the other hand, chose to ignore it because she didn't want to admit why it was so damn good. She also chose to ignore his hand idly stroking her hip as they lay in bed mocking the people on t.v.

"Hey, Mar?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I'm in love with you, right?"

Silence. His hand stopped moving. She felt like she had stopped breathing.

"I wish you wouldn't say that, Marshall."

"Yeah, I know. I just need to know … If you're sure that you don't love me, will never love me, I need to know."

"You know I can't say that. God, I'm trying not to be in love with you. I wish you would stop making it so hard."

"Is it so horrible?"

"Damnit, Marshall, I told you. I can't lose you."

"All the more reason to give this a shot."

"No, no because I am rude, I never do laundry or dishes and I am selfish and impossible."

If she hadn't been completely serious, Mary would have rejoiced at hearing him laugh openly for the first time that day.

"You think I don't know this? I know you Mary. You know I do. Nobody knows you like I do. I know damn well what I'm getting into. I made that choice."

Mary didn't say anything, but she didn't move away from him either. Still naked and sweaty and stinky, her head fit nicely against his shoulder and he snaked his arm around her stomach casually, but still staking a claim. Now and then she shifted or fussed, changing position every so slightly and he would twist until he was comfortable again. At some point, he began to wonder about her silence, and just when he was trying to find the words to ask, he heard her say,

"This is too nice. I mean, shit, Marshall, I never get sick of you, why is that? I never spent time with Raph. We had sex when I got home and that was it. And it was just sex, nothing like whatever the hell happened earlier. "

"You're scared."

"You're damn right I'm scared. I don't want to lose my best friend."

"You can't lose me."

"If this doesn't work out?"

"I'll be angry. Because the reason it wouldn't work out is because you're too damn scared to try. But I'll still be your friend, your partner. I've thought about this before, and trust me, my attempts at self-preservation went to hell awhile ago.."

"When you thought about leaving."

"Mary. Whatever you decide tomorrow, you can't change tonight. So let's just enjoy it."

There was a long silence, but he guessed that she agreed when he felt her sliding back up his body and felt her lips upon his, when he felt her grabbing him tightly, knowing she was just allowing them one night. He was determined to make the most of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He snuck up behind her while she was brushing her teeth with his toothbrush. Another victory. He didn't know how long she would allow this kind of intimacy, but he knew it wouldn't be much longer. She leaned into him for just a moment before moving away. Marshall smirked to himself. Every moment that she allowed him was a victory. He knew it was pathetic, but at the same time she had revealed more of herself to him than she had to anyone else, so in a way, his sense of accomplishment was justified.

He walked back to the bedroom, grabbing a t-shirt from the floor as he moved towards the kitchen to make breakfast. As he started to slide it over his head he felt her hands creeping up his back, grabbing the shirt away. She tossed it onto the bed and caressed him briefly before turning him around and kissing him. All thoughts of breakfast flew out the window.

An hour later, they lay in bed, sweaty and satisfied. Mary crawled over him, moaning about being hungry. He grinned fully, teasing her that she had made her choice. They got dressed companionably and he knew that her silence was because she was too comfortable with him. He enjoyed it. It meant she would have a hard time giving it up and maybe he had a shot after all. He knew it was pathetic to think like that. He should be trying to have an actual life. But he couldn't change it anymore. And now that it seemed that Mary did in fact love him, he didn't have much reason to try to change it. He just had to wait for her to figure out that she couldn't escape it.

Still, when she drove off, he couldn't stop the sinking feeling that that was it. Somehow, he knew that when he met her less than an hour later at work, everything would be different.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Stan watched his inspectors cautiuosly. Mary's bitch of a mood and Marshall's cheerfulness. Somehow, Marshall actually seemed to be rejoicing at Mary's bad mood. This certainly couldn't end well. Marshall had come in before Mary, as usual. Her vicious mood had been clear the moment she had stepped through the door. Yet rather than take it out on Marshall, she seemed almost afraid of him, running out the door to check on witnesses almost immediately. When she got back to the office to do paperwork, she jumped and glared every time he approached her. Marshall would just grin and move away, chuckling to himself.

In fact, Marshall was enjoying how much he had gotten under her skin. She would take some time to come around. To get up the nerve to try a relationship. But he did have hope that she might get there. In the meantime, it was entertaining to see her acting so skittish in the office, as if she was afraid he might kiss her or declare his undying love at any moment.

It was about halfway through her shower that Mary's euphoria had worn off and she realized that no good could come of attempting a relationship with the one person essential to her life. Raph had been good for her, she knew. First mature relationship. She hadn't done so well with it at first, but she had started to try. She had learnt quite a lot. But that didn't mean she was ready for a relationship with someone she couldn't stand to lose. She had a long way to go. She honestly didn't know if she'd ever get there. Her thoughts kept returning to what Raph had said when they'd broken it off. She wondered – was it easier when you really loved someone? Or was it just that you were more willing to work for it. She was okay with working for things. Her job. Her life. Her house. She knew what it was to struggle to get to a better place. So why not relationships? Why couldn't she apply the same ferocity to relationships?

Perhaps because a house couldn't walk out on you. It might burn to the ground, but then there was insurance, right? A job was fairly reliable as long as you did it well.

She knew she already had it too good with Marshall. To have a partner that she could talk to about everything, almost. A partner who made a good best friend and was easy to tease and good-natured, usually. Why tempt fate and try to ask for more? And how could he put her in that position without understanding that it was a boneheaded move? Didn't he know that she would drive him crazy and eventually he'd give up, because it wasn't worth fighting for.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, she had worked herself into a good fury. She enjoyed that much more than feeling scared or overwhelmed. When she felt boxed in, she starting pushing and screaming her way out. And he just kept laughing at her. That was even more infuriating. Anger was good. Better than that little whisper of yearning she felt when she made the mistake of looking at him. She struggled to find reasons to be away from him most of the day. As the week went on, she got better at it and soon she hardly spoke to him at all. He had stopped laughing about it. She supposed he missed her as much as she missed him, but she couldn't take the chance that he might bring up what had happened. That one stupid mistake. That was how she thought of it now. She erased everything of what she had felt. Stupid mistake, she repeated.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry the chapters are so short! I just go by how scenes lump naturally in my head. But I update many at a time to make up for the shortness.

Chapter 7

It was 9 in the evening and Marshall studied the empty office. Suddenly, Mary had become a nine to fiver. No more late nights for paperwork or companionship. He wondered idly if she snuck in sometime in the middle of the night. After all, she was also doing more of her own paperwork so he couldn't really imagine how she managed to work fewer hours. He found himself hoping they would have to do a transfer or something soon, anything that would force them to spend some time together. It wasn't that he expected her to change her mind overnight, but he was a bit lonely. Somehow origami wasn't as much fun without Mary to tease him for it. He wondered what would be the geekiest possible hobby he could pick up. Something that would force her to end her silence.

He knew she couldn't keep it up forever. They needed each other. He knew that things couldn't possibly be calm at home. In that house, they never were. She'd been worrying a lot about Brandi and Peter. That Brandi was taking advantage. She'd have to talk to someone eventually, and who else could it be? He'd wait. In the meantime, maybe he'd spend more time with Stan. All this quiet was getting to be too much for him. He liked a quiet life, generally, but not completely solitary. Eleanor had left, so it was likely that Stan might want to go for a beer now and then.

He heard the door creak open and smiled to himself. This was the latest he'd stayed this week. Maybe Mary really did sneak in late at night when she knew he'd be gone.

"Hey," she said, knowing she couldn't sneak back out now. She didn't really have the heart to push him away now either. Late night was a bad idea. Her defenses were down.

"Hey, Mar. Catching up on paperwork?"

"Something like that. Sometimes I just don't feel like being at home."

"Everything okay with Brandi and Jinx."

"Yeah, I mean, well, normal." She tried to brush it off, but he just sat there. Waiting. She tried not to look at him, but finally pulled a chair next to his desk and let loose. Every detail that he had missed this week. He took the opportunity to show her his latest creation and never had an insult been so appreciated. He even told her he had considered hanging out with Stan since his best friend had been freezing him out for a week. That gave her a good laugh.

"Hey, Marshall, look, I'm sorry. I let things get weird. Are we okay?"

"We are what we are, Mary. But I told you you couldn't lose me."

"Yeah, okay. Um. I better get going. See you Monday?"

He smiled sadly and lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave. At least they could talk again.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Marshall didn't need people. It was that he didn't like being around people. He enjoyed socializing now and then. Not to the point of actual socialization, but a little fraternity was nothing to avoid. Yet he didn't need them. He was content spending time alone. He always had something he wanted to do. Some new hobby, or some new interest to research. He'd recently fallen in love with Wikipedia talk pages. He loved tracking the evolution of consensus based information. Not that he'd admit it at the office, because Mary would tease him mercilessly and Stan would start to suspect that he wasn't as diligent a worker as he seemed. No reason to let on that he actually got his paperwork done rather quickly and spent the rest of the time reading Wikipedia. That was bad enough of course, but his delight in the Wikipedia talk pages was bordering on sick. He suspected Mary knew – she'd frequently walked by and taken an obvious look at his computer. He guessed the target wasn't interesting enough for her.

His mother had worried about him as a child. As the youngest of four brothers, he'd often been required to play with boys older and rougher than he. The time he really enjoyed was the time he got to invent his own games. When they played guns, he was always dead first, they insisted that they had all shot him. When they went for hikes, he was the one trailing behind, missing the big exciting snake sighting and never winning when they decided to race. When he went to school and started making his own friends, it was nice, but he didn't much want to sacrifice his alone time for that. His alone time was precious. The only time he got to decide what to do and who to be. Marshall enjoyed people, but he didn't need people.

Not like Mary. Mary needed people. Mary needed somebody to release to. She went from bottled up to explosive several times within a period of 24 hours, and even though she didn't often like people, she needed them. To yell at, to identify with, to insult, to fuss over, to bitch about. When she was alone, she fretted about people. She couldn't really ever be completely alone. Marshall sometimes thought about this, because, Mary might admit that she needed people, if pressured. What she didn't realize was that, while she needed people generally, she also needed Marshall specifically. She'd want to classify that with the general need for people, because it was comforting. If he wasn't there, someone else would be. She didn't like needing Marshall specifically. She also couldn't admit that he needed her, specifically. He didn't need people, but he needed her. He'd accepted that, but he also suspected that he would always have her, in some way. Raphael, and the shooting, had made him a little worried. He did, of course, hope she figured things out soon, because now that the ball had started rolling, she probably wouldn't react well to him dating at all, and he didn't really want to go without sex indefinitely. He was human, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 09

When Mary got in on Monday morning, Marshall wasn't there. She frowned at his desk. She'd been wanting all weekend to call him, but couldn't think up an excuse, so she looked forward to Monday morning. So where the hell was he? He'd barely left the office the previous week, she had wondered if he was neglecting his witnesses. So why now, suddenly, he wasn't there? She fired up the computer, glaring at his empty chair periodically as if it had feelings.

"Good Morning, Mary!" Stan's voice was too cheerful. She glared. He faltered but did not retreat.

"So … how are things going for the Petersons?"

"Fine … they're adjusting. The kids are sickening. Seriously? Like puppets. Not an individual thought or impulse from any of them."

"Okay … That's good … So, we need to get Sherry Peterson to and from trial"

"Where's Marshall? Shouldn't he be here for this? They're his witnesses!"

"Well ..." Stan shifted nervously, "Marshall's not here this week."

"What?"

"Relax, it's just a temporary assignment. He might be back Thursday or Friday even. I'll do the transfer with you."

"What? Okay, yeah fine but … Where is he?"

"Mary ..."

"Where is he?"

" He was loaned out to participate in a task force to catch an escaped prisoner. They needed someone good."

"Fine, whatever. Why should I care? I don't care?"

Stan was smart enough not to talk to Mary for the rest of the day, other than to give her the details of the transfer. He dreaded having to drive out with her the next day. She grumpily went off to catch

up on Marshall's routine visits, the ones he'd been avoiding last week and been unable to address the week before, as he'd been helping out with one of her witnesses involved in a disturbing domestic violence incident which had ended in them splitting up and relocating the family. Luckily, she was way ahead with her own visits, as she'd been spending every possible moment out of the office. Besides, she could harass him for leaving her so much work without warning.

Dealing with Marshall's witnesses, however, didn't make her feel any better. The undeserving idiots kept reminding her how sweet and thoughtful he could be. Most of them didn't appreciate it in the slightest and kept on giving him trouble no matter how far out of the way he went to help them. There was the guy who kept quitting every job he had. Marshall pulled every string possible to get him something close to what he said he wanted, but none of them were any good. Or the woman from rural New England who was so incredibly homesick that Marshall had remodeled the apartment to resemble a classic New England home with a "window" looking out on a stunning nature scene. She complained that the air smelled different, and he busted his balls trying one type of potpourri after another, never getting close enough to how her grandparent's home had smelled when she was a child. When the kids took up her complaints and kept on about how it was no fun to play in the desert, they missed the woods, Marshall had tried to get them interested by teaching them all the cool and unique things they could explore there and arranged a hiking trip. They'd all been hot and thirsty and whiny within half an hour and couldn't care less about the peculiar fauna and flora of the desert.

Mary wondered if she was just one more disappointment. Maybe he put up with her because the lack of appreciation was no different from what he got from everyone else on the planet. She found herself growing angry on his behalf, and became more and more impatient with the idiot witnesses as the day went by. Tomorrow's road trip woud be a relief, even if she hated to do a transfer without Marshall. Stan was good, she trusted Stan more than pretty much anyone except Marshall. But Marshall was her partner.

As she glanced around the empty office before heading home, she a gnawing feeling rising up, a feeling she had tried to ignore all day. Where was he and with whom was he working? She suspected it might be dangerous. Stan was pretty tight-lipped about it, and why else would they need to borrow someone as good as Marshall? She tried to keep up her indignant anger. It was easier to be annoyed than worried.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Marshall tromped into his motel room, completely done for the day. His spine ached, his eyes were bleary, and he felt like his clothes stank from the cloud of scumbag that had assaulted him the moment he stepped foot in the headquarters. Why were so many investigators such inconceivably arrogant pricks? He wished he had Mary, in the next room. Mary, he smiled. Hadn't she been arrogant and judgmental when they'd first met? But she'd always been passionate. She'd always cared about everything she did. His disgust at her contempt for WITSEC had quickly given way to amazement when he saw that, despite her abrasive behavior, she cared passionately. It was often fairly easy to get her invested in someone's sob story, he'd found out. When he met her family, he began to understand why one of the most nurturing and true people he'd ever known clouded everything in a veil of sarcasm and disgust. Some people thought Mary cold. But they would never be able to explain how she reached out to witnesses despite her better judgment and cared for her family over and over again, despite her better judgment.

He hit the call button as his head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes and waited, hardly knowing what to expect. Each limb was weary and his mind was wearier. He didn't know what he hoped for – concern or sarcastic insults.

"Marshall?" She answered. Her voice was strained, worried, but eager to cloud it. He could picture her stance.

"Hey Mare"

"Thanks for letting me know you'd be gone," she retorted. He sat erect, eyes suddenly open, vacant gaze directed at the wall, trying to analyze. Her words were sarcastic, yes, but her tone sounded … tired? Sad?

"I'm sorry," he droned, "Really I am. Stan called me Saturday night, told me I had pretty much no choice, and I didn't really know where we stood. You know ..."

"Yeah, I know. I'm an idiot." Her sigh came through loud and clear. He could imagine her. She'd made her way into the bedroom, was sitting on the bed by the time he'd said he was sorry, and now was lying on her back, vacant eyes fixed on the ceiling. He waited, not wanting to pick a fight. He missed her, but couldn't bring himself to niceties.

"So why didn't he send both of us?"

"Mary – c'mon. I mean, you're high risk right now after the shooting and … shouldn't be put under undue strain for awhile … working with other Marshals for you is undue strain."

"Right, I can only deal with one Marshall. And we both know these assholes don't care, so why? Why wasn't I included?"

"You trust me?"

The breath she drew was sharp, as she sat up rigidly on the edge of the bed and waited for it, " Yes, Marshall. I trust you."

"It was Stan who told them No. He did ask me. They wanted both of us, but he thought it was too much to put you through again. You know, I hated to agree. I wanted you by my side. But I did it anyway. If anything happened … we'd never forgive ourselves. I know you're pissed, you don't want other people deciding these things for you, but … we almost lost you, Mary. You have to accept that we might be overprotective for awhile. Anyway, it's not unreasonable for Stan to want to keep at least one of us this week."

"Huh."

"That's it? No yelling?"

"I just wish I could be there to have your back. And I'm kind of wondering how dangerous this is, if you felt you had to protect me like that."

"It's pretty routine. If all goes well, I'll be back Thursday."

"Yeah, and if it doesn't?"

"I'll be back Friday or Saturday."

"Fine, as long as you'll be back. Damn it, Marshall, I should be there and you know it."

"You want me to apologize for caring about you?"

Silence. He flipped on the television. The darkness pushed up against the windows of his motel room. He could feel it, though the blinds were closed. Without Mary in the next room over, he felt like he and this dingy, dark room were floating in space, lonely and surrounded by emptiness. Mary's silence didn't help any.

"I guess I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, doofus." Her voice was softer; he could see her thoughtful face. "I still have to tell you all about your charming witnesses."

"Oh, god. Spare me for tonight."

"'Night, Marshall."

"Goodnight, Mare."

The television flickered and Marshall let his head slam back against the headboard, wincing slightly at the sound. How was it that he could be so comfortable spending most of his free time either on his own or with perfect strangers in all the classes he took, but now, in this damn motel room, he felt so incredibly lonely that time seemed to stretch out before him, empty and useless. Time, time, always his friend. So many things to learn to fill the time. Really, there was never enough time. So much in the world to explore. Now, time was a burden.

The motel room needed a fly buzzing around the crappy overhead light fixture. Yes, that would set its dreariness at the utmost level. Then, his surroundings might perfectly suit his mood. He liked for the image to match the mood.

He'd brought books. Mary teased him about it, how he always tossed into his bag three or four books that usually he had no time to read, save for a few minutes before bed. It had been a tiring day, but that's why he'd brought light reading. A charming history of the Oxford English Dictionary. A surprisingly readable tome on the historical and imperial origins of Balkan conflict. Also, an Ursula K Le Guin he'd already read a few times. It wasn't that he was too tired to read, it just didn't fit his mood. And this, after all the times he'd tried to get some reading done and had complained about Mary constantly interrupting. How had she so completely permeated his life?

The phone call had been unsatisfying. What tore at him, sent his thoughts flying about, was the uncertainty. He could be patient. He could wait for her, for awhile. Hadn't he been doing that already? Now, though, he had no idea what to expect. No way of planning. When he saw her again, would she avoid him? Would she yell at him? Would she act as though everything were back to normal? He couldn't plan one single way to prevent that squashing of his heart, moment to moment. All he could do was put on a blank face, choose his words and his voice carefully, and trust that she didn't notice how hard he had to try – as he'd always done.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Mary set her phone down reluctantly. She'd had a feeling recently, whenever she talked to Marshall, that there was always something more to say. And she was constantly reminded of things he'd told her. Facts about the development of the mobile phone. Sometimes, she got the urge to check what he said but she could never quite remember what he'd told her. Tons of facts. Someday she might ask him what it all meant in terms of ideas. Facts and bits explain nothing.

She wanted to call him back to let him know that. She'd told him a few times that random facts were worthless. Maybe she'd been a bit rude. He'd told her that in previous times, there were a few people who knew everything there was to know. What had he said? Something about how nowadays, everyone just had to know how to find information. He'd said, what a relief, they don't have to carry everything around any more.

"So why do you?" She'd asked.

"Mostly because someone told me being smart can get you laid." He'd replied, never taking his eyes off of whatever he was doing on the computer. Probably sudoku. She knew he always finished his work quickly and then pretended to work for the rest of the day.

Mary spent a moment listening to the quiet of the house. Remembering moments with Marshall hadn't eased her urge to talk to him. She looked at the wall, thinking of what he and Raph had done for her. She suddenly wanted to know the etymology of the word 'spackle' and that alone was enough to make her worry about her own sanity.

Marshall was busy. Chasing down escaped prisoners. He needed his sleep, so she couldn't bother him. She opened her computer. What was the site? She searched etymology.

_Spackle: proprietary name for a surfacing compound, 1927, probably based on Ger. spachtel "putty knife, mastic, filler." The verb is attested from 1940._

She wondered a bit about how much languages changed in the course of a century. It'd be a good question to ask Marshall, maybe. She sighed. She'd been trying to not think about Marshall. She hated feeling like a girl, obsessing about a guy. She had a life, right?

Luckily, just as she was starting to type an e-mail to him, there was the ring of the doorbell.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Mary opened her door with a flourish, as if to say, why are you bothering me. She glared down the person on the other side, but couldn't help jumping in surprise at his face.

"Raph? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hey Mary. We need to talk."

"No... I don't think we do. Why are you even here?" She refused to open the door any further, glaring at him suspiciously.

"It's about Brandi."

So she let him in.

"Peter's been a mess. He's worried. He told me he loaned her money."

"Yeah, so? He told me that, too."

"So … I want to help."

"How can you possibly help. Raph?"

"I don't know, go find her maybe. Go to New Jersey. You can't go, Peter can't go, you both have jobs. He'd give me time off if it would help Brandi."

"Yeah, well, she's not in Jersey. She's in Miami."

"Miami? Are you serious? That's great."

"Really? How is that in any way great?"

"I know Miami, I lived there! I know people. Look, Mary, I know you want Brandi to start figuring things out on her own, but this whole thing sounds sketchy to me. I hope you give me approval to go, but Peter backs me on this and I will go there and try to find her even if you don't approve."

"Okay. I don't know anything more than that she's in Miami. I was caught using resources for personal reasons at work, so I couldn't get all the information. I can give you the number she called me from the one time she did call me, but Brandi seems to lose phones on a regular basis, so I can't guarantee it will get you anywhere. You're an idiot to do this, and Peter is an idiot to support it. Peter I can understand, but the first time you met Brandi she stole your car, so I'm not really sure why you want to go so far for her. "

"I feel for her. You're not the only one who suffered from your parents' behavior. Cut her some slack."

"God, Raph, you didn't live with it. You don't know what it was like. She was a baby, she hardly remembers. I took care of her, most of the time. She was fine. She hardly saw anything"

"Maybe I didn't live with a gambler and an alcoholic, but it doesn't mean I'm completely incapable of understanding anything. All families have problems. Do you know that my mother's oldest sister died from a backstreet abortion when she was sixteen years old?"

"What? Raph? What are you talking about"

"It's true. My aunt Rita, the second eldest, said, the hell you control my body like that! And has all her life supported women's reproductive rights. My mother? She was five years old at the time. She was convinced that sex without marriage led to my aunt's death. Rita tells me, she loved the romanticism of the church then, and to see her sister die like that only reinforced her romantic fantasies. But every year on the anniversary of her sister's death, she weeps. None of us know what to do. Aunt Rita refuses to see my grandparents, so at holidays we celebrated twice. Once with her and her husband's relatives, once with my grandparents. My grandfather had kicked his daughter out when he found out she was pregnant. She had no money, no place to live and so tried for a cheap abortion."

On Mary's incredulous look, he added, "Okay, so nobody knows quite what to do. We're all just guessing. My point is that families have issues. My mother, she always hated any hint that we were becoming too modern. Listening to rock music, watching t.v. But she wouldn't yell, she'd pray and cry. She eased up, over the years, but when I first moved here to the U.S., she wouldn't talk to me. She'd call every week, say hello, and then just be silent. Sometimes I talked, getting no reply, other times I'd just wait until she said good bye and hung up. I tried leaving the phone one time, but she seemed to know, I could hear her yelling at me as I tried to walk away that she didn't appreciate being ignored. This went on for almost six months. She's made progress but … it's not like our relationship is easy."

"Wow, I'm sorry Raph … I didn't know."

"I know it's nothing like what you went through but … you shouldn't assume that other families are perfect. Everyone has something there ..."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this stuff?"

"Because it was just part of family. I never knew Mama's oldest sister. Mama and Papa, my sisters, Aunt Rita - this was my family. They taught me the importance of family, of tradition, of sticking by one another. The point is, you can't assume that nobody understands just because they didn't go through exactly what you went through. If you dig just a little, you'll see that everybody's had some sort of family troubles. I know most of them don't compare … but at least they give people a basis for understanding you."

"So … why then …?" She wanted to ask him why he believed in it so strongly, fought so hard against all odds to take care of her family and to join their families.

"Because it's worth it. I hope someday you can understand that. Isn't that why you keep taking care of Brandi and Jinx?"

"I did bail on them. A few times. A lot of times."

"Oh, Mary. You did what you had to, to take care of yourself. But please, let me help you now. Just because they aren't my family anymore doesn't mean I stop caring."

"Okay … just … get Brandi home. You just give her money, she'll lose it and start blubbering again until you find yourself in too deep. Trust me, I've been there. God, that girl cries a lot."

"Got it."

"Raph?"

"Yeah?

"Thanks for caring."

"It's what I do."

Raph turned away, walked out the door with relief. He'd hated hearing Peter trying to pretend that things with Brandi were okay. He knew he shouldn't care as much as he did. Why was he so vulnerable to her need? Yet her openness was so refresing. So emotional, so uncontrolled. It was endearing to the man who wanted, more than anything else, someone to take care of. He made no plans, he still considered Brandi off-limits. Because of Mary, because of Peter. Better to move on with his life, take a whole new direction. But her sweet, open face, so vulnerable to the elements of life, made it impossible for him to walk away without making sure she was alright. At the same time he wanted to shake some sense into her, tell her to treat the people who cared for her better than she did. Needed. Important. Not just a coincidental tangent to someone's already full life.

Raph's last words echoed in Mary's head. _It's what I do. _As though it were that simple. Marshall was like that, too. Took care of her, put up with her, day in day out because that was just who he was. Mary had never been able to do it. She'd failed Brandi and Jinx over and over again. She must have been some kind of monster, leaving that child there when she was seventeen. Selfish, foolish, uncaring. When Marshall confronted her about taking care of them for so long, taking it all on herself, she never had the balls to tell him the real reason. He suspected. He'd alluded. But she'd never been able to tell him straight out that she had failed them. She'd left, just like her father. Half of her was afraid of being abandoned again. The other half, though, was afraid that she'd be the one to walk away. She could picture Brandi, watching her walk out the door, not knowing that she was running far, far away as fast as she could. She hadn't gotten far in the end, but isn't the intent important?


End file.
